Red the First (2 page)

The incident at Schlotz’s Grocery
invaded his dreams at night, and looped in his mind during the day,
making him wonder if he was standing knee-deep in the muck pool of
insanity. If only the gun he’d taken from the alien hadn’t turned
to ash before he’d gotten it home—then he’d have proof.

The gun in his lap, however, was quite
solid. He stared numbly down its barrel, contemplating the single
bullet in the chamber. The concentrated explosion behind the small
missile had the force to protect life or to take it, but could it
end his pain? Or would it possibly send him to a place of suffering
without end? Some days, the idea of hell was the only deterrent to
suicide. And then there was the dream.

The dream always centered on a man with
thick black hair and gray eyes. A quarter-sized birthmark, shaped
like a star, radiated from the corner of his left eye. The man
stood alone in a barren wasteland that rolled on without end.
Poison green fog swirled in various places, but the man in his
dream seemed unaffected. He. The man with the star turned in a
circle then stretched his hands toward the sky; the gesture was
like a stone thrown into a pond, creating ripples in stagnant
water, pushing away tainted green mist and sickly yellow clouds,
making way for a new earth. When he was done, the land had changed
from burnt brown to lush green. A rainbow arced in a turquoise sky.
The man with the star called out in a voice like thunder, “In the
name of the father goes the son!”

The vision always ended there, with Red
waking up, crying out with a resounding, “Amen!”

Red savored the joy and hope found
within this dreamscape, which waking life denied him. He set the
gun onto the coffee table and traded it for a plastic toy record
player—a 1970s antique his wife had picked up at a garage sale. He
wound the crank, listening as the toy tinkled out a cheerful
children’s song. When the music stopped, the silence was like an
exclamation point in his ear, emphasizing the smothering emptiness.
He flipped the record over, bottom lip trembling as he sang the
only part of the lyrics he knew, “…God bless my homeland
forever.”

Holding his temples in his hands, he
rocked back and forth. “It’s gone. Everything is gone.”

In a fit of fury, he smashed the record
player against the wall. Bitter thoughts simmered into sulking,
gradually morphing into gentle memories of better times. He
retrieved the record player to give it a shake. Pieces rattled
inside the box, making him grimace. The knob now turned only
loosely. Panicked at the thought that the only music in his life
was gone forever, he shook a fist toward the ceiling and implored
the indifferent universe for assistance.

The toy couldn’t be pried open without
cracking the plastic case, so Red created a mental picture of its
interior. He envisioned the broken pieces inside, imagining them
floating to their rightful places. Intuitively sensing that a gear
inside the player had broken a tooth, he fused it back in place
with the force of his own will. The stunt was sheer stupidity, but
he pleaded with the unknown powers above.

“
Let it be.”

He shook the player one more time for
good measure. No rattling! Dare he wind it? Yes, and to his
delight, the record turntable moved more smoothly than
before.

Red scratched his head in bewilderment.
First the alien, now telekinesis—his grip on reality had slipped a
little more. What had happened to confident Red Wakeland, the
sensible businessman, and weekend warrior? Where was Kay, his
wonderful wife who had once been prom queen, and still turned every
guy’s head twenty years later? Where were their three little
angels? Once he had lived the American Dream: perfect family, big
house, bright future…

Bah—who was he kidding? Life had never
been idyllic. The truth of the matter was that Kay was not so
wonderful—nor was he. She had maxed out their credit cards to pay
him back for his one-night stand. His little angels had broken
haloes. Once upon a time, his teenage daughter slept around. His
son, the middle child, burnt the neighbor’s shed to the ground. But
Piper, his youngest daughter, had remained an angel to the very
end. Given a few more birthdays, she probably would have sprouted
horns like the rest of them, but all of his memories of her were
happy ones. How he missed her sparkling blue eyes, her soft pink
kisses, and bubbly laughter. Holding her rag doll to his nose, he
took a deep whiff. Her pure clean scent still lingered, even so
many months after she’d last been able to hold her dolly, Miss
Buttercup. He’d give up the days he had left just to hold her one
more time.

Hell, he’d trade the whole damn house
to hear his oldest daughter slam her bedroom door again, or to be
on the receiving end of his son’s sarcasm, or to hear his wife rant
about how he left the toilet seat up again. God, how he missed
them.

He clutched Miss Buttercup, glancing at
the items filling his world. Computers, iPods, video games—what
good were they without electricity? Expensive rugs and artwork—who
were they going to impress? He had spent his life accumulating
these things, which were now without purpose.

A blanket of despair smothered the
light out of his soul. The pandemic hadn’t swept across the
globe—no—it had dropped on the world like a bomb. Simultaneous
outbreaks started in opposite corners of the world. Clearly, it was
an orchestrated attack. Nations pointed fingers, Red guessed
terrorists from the Middle East, but the culprits had not left a
single fingerprint. Within three months, eighty percent of the
population had perished. By the time the illness had played out,
Red estimated only two percent had survived.

He cursed the mysterious quirk that had
spared him while taking away those he loved. It was only after
their eyes closed, their voices silenced, and their breaths came no
more that he realized how precious they truly were. He had wasted
his todays building an automobile dealership, figuring there would
always be more tomorrows to spend with his family.

After his wife and children died, he
had welcomed the first signs of the illness in his own body. The
plague began with a raging headache, followed by an unquenchable
thirst. Within hours of the first symptoms, every breath became a
burning agony. The worst suffering came later, after he recovered,
and his subsequent discovery of the deepest meaning of
alone.

He cursed his squandered yesterdays,
aching for a second chance that would never come.

The dog came in from the kitchen to lie
at his feet. Good old Zena. She was a three-year-old mix of German
Shepherd, Great Dane, and something shaggy. The kids had found her
as a half-starved tick-riddled puppy romping around the back yard.
They begged to keep her, and Kay caved. Zena made her mark on the
family, and the house, chewing up rugs, the banister, numerous
shoes, and taking whizzes wherever she pleased. Red had resented
her deeply and threatened to take her to the pound on numerous
occasions, but Kay had fought for Zena’s right to stay. The wife
always won.

Before the plague, Red had taken Zena
on a walk once, but that had been the extent of his pet-owner
responsibilities. Ironic that the animal that he had once despised
was now the only thing keeping him grounded.

“
Yeah, girl,” he said
scratching her ears. “If I had known then what I know now, maybe I
would have taken you on two walks.” She rolled over to show him her
spotted flesh. “Good grief girl—have a little modesty.” Her ears
perked up, but she remained on her back, tail sweeping the floor in
hopeful expectation. “All right, all right.” The faster he rubbed
her belly, the faster her back leg kicked. Silly dog.

Finally, she jumped onto the couch to
lay over his legs, tongue hanging out, and panting hard from the
heat. Red rubbed her ears and told her that ponies didn’t make good
lap dogs. She gave a loud yawn, totally disinterested in his
opinion.

Chapter 3

The red line on the thermometer hovered
around 98 degrees. Opened windows offered little relief. “I’d pluck
out my left eye for air conditioning,” Red muttered, but the
upcoming winter was a bigger concern than the heat.

When civilization disintegrated after
so many people had died, the power stations failed, shipping ceased
and fuel became inaccessible. The gas fireplace in the center of
the living room was now useless.

Last season, he got by with a kerosene
heater, but that kind of fuel hadn’t been used much prior to the
plague, so there wasn’t much of it around where he lived. During
the winter he had scrounged for cans of fuel around residences and
businesses, but had since exhausted the feasible search radius.
Unfortunately, Red had lost his four wheeler in an ambush shortly
after he’d run into the alien. Just a couple of miles from home, as
he was carefully navigating between a Winnebago and a UPS truck,
left abandoned athwart the freeway, three guys in Hawaiian shirts
burst out from the back of the UPS truck. Their clothes were bright
and cheerful, but the men were not. One stood in front of the four
wheeler, forcing Red to slam on the brakes. The other two yanked
him off the four wheel.

In hindsight, he should have said the
hell with it, and run over the bastard. While the three men got
busy beating the crap out of him, Zena showed up out of nowhere.
Worried the fierce dog might be part of a pack, the men took off.
Getting jacked was one of the many hazards that came with traveling
by motorized vehicle, but it wasn’t as dangerous as
walking.

In the early days after the fall of
civilization, Red had spent a lot of time in his car, expanding his
search radius, looking for fuel. He was always excited when he
found a stash because that meant he could look for even more fuel.
It took him a while to realize the insanity of scavenging for fuel,
so he could scavenge for more fuel. With all the vehicles and
litter clogging the streets, walking was the easiest way to get
around anyway, but it came with its own set of dangers. Regardless
of the mode of transportation though, the time to leave Brookhaven
had come. The decision to downsize, leaving the house where he’d
raised his children, wasn’t easy, but he needed to be
practical.

Leisurely walks were a thing of the
past. Although the plague had affected animals, they hadn’t died in
the same numbers as humans. The zoo animals had escaped, so there
were now lions and tigers roaming the streets. Black bears and
wolves had come down from the north looking for food, but the
biggest danger was wild dogs. They roamed the streets in packs,
bringing down anything that moved. Fortunately, Zena was a big
deterrent to hungry animals. She had defended him against the packs
more than once, but his main concern had shifted since the incident
at Schlotz’s Grocery.

Removing his pistol from the kitchen
drawer, he double-checked the chamber, giving it a spin before
clicking it into place and sliding the barrel into his shoulder
holster.

Zena’s tail wagged as she patted her
front paws on the ceramic tile at the front door. Red raised the
pitch of his voice to intensify her anticipation, “Does Zena want
to go for a walk?”

The dog was a sucker for a stroll, but
this was much more than a mere walk, it was the next chapter of
their lives.

Chapter 4

Out in the garage, he filled the Radio
Flyer wagon with survival gear—a tarp, blankets, matches, candles,
batteries, flashlights, lighter fluid, various knives, cans of dog
food, two manual can openers, sealable plastic bags, other
essential supplies, and Miss Buttercup. He wasn’t looking to move
far away, but he needed a smaller house, one that was easy to
maintain, easy to heat, preferably with a body of water
nearby.

He contemplated going back into the
house, but didn’t think he could handle separating from it again
without having a breakdown. Pulling out the picture of his family
that he always carried with him, he ran his fingers lovingly across
the edges. That day at Cedar Point had been the last happy day they
had enjoyed together. In the roller coaster car ahead of him, his
daughter screamed, while his son held his hands straight up in the
air. Far below Piper sat on a bench licking ice cream cones with
Grandpa and Grandma, while in the seat next to him, Kay
white-knuckled the grab bar. She gave a cheeky grin and warned him
to hold on tight, this was going to be one helluva ride

The top of the Millennium had felt like
the top of the world. As the coaster hung suspended over a
death-defying drop, Red had a rare epiphany. Life was fleeting.
Every day surrounded by those he loved was a special gift to be
cherished. Too bad he didn’t hang onto those thoughts when they
returned home. Some people looked back at their lives, saying they
wouldn’t change a thing. Not Red. If he had to do over, he would
have worried less, complained less, and loved more.

As he was walking away from the house,
he stole a glance back. He’d carried his babies through that front
door when he brought them home from the hospital. The yard had
hosted many games of tag and Frisbee. Oh, yeah, and that lovely
water balloon fight with Kay. His eyes flooded, so he turned his
gaze toward the road ahead.

“
Let’s go, Zena.”